Just Keep Rolling Along
by bitchtownexpress
Summary: Her voice is breathtaking. It's a slower song than the one before, but the mood is much more upbeat: this isn't a blues song; it's a song this girl is teasing the audience with. Instead of an entire band, her only accompaniment is the piano and a single saxophone, and the intimacy of the sound draws the audience in.


(Hey, so this is my first long work, and I'd welcome any/criticism/reviews/feedback in general. I came up with an idea to do Brittana in the 20's cause that era's basically everything I like. (Minus the human rights…) Anyway, tell me what you think!)

We make an elegant sight, I think, ensconced at our usual table. Our shades of hair, the style in which it's cut, and the way we dress is similar enough that at first glance we could pass for sisters. But if you look much longer than a moment you're almost certain to find that we are almost as completely different looking as any couple of blondes can be. I am dainty, petite, with delicate features and large green eyes. A classic beauty I've been told.

Then there's Brittany. She is just as beautiful as me, I think, maybe even more. She's slender and tall, with catlike blue eyes and hair slightly lighter than mine.

I am golden hair and tawny skin. Sweet and clever, I try to smooth things out. Like honey I sometimes leave a bitter taste in the mouth. If I am honey, Brittany is ice, frozen blue eyes, porcelain skin, pale hair. Like ice she's transparent or opaque as the mood strikes. Like ice, she's easily cracked, easily melted. She cares too much what people think.

It's a little strange that two dissimilar girls are such good friends, but somehow this blend of difference and sameness has kept us inseparable since we were fourteen years old.

Right now Brittany is tapping her nails on the table. I know why. This singer has been here every night this week at Hummel's, and she always starts off her repertoire with the same song. The same very long song. Sure enough, the opening chords start up and the singer, a diminutive brunette with a very big mouth (albeit an impressive vocal range) begins the first verse of her ballad.

"_Jesse James was a lad that killed many a man,_

_He robbed the __Glendale__ train,_

_He stole from the rich and he gave to the poor,_

_He'd a hand and a heart and a brain_."

She's got a wonderful voice that soars to the very rafters of the nightclub, but Brittany and I have heard this song four times in four nights. And it goes on for seven more verses. I put my hand over Brittany's tapping fingers to get her attention and motion toward the exit. Drawing as little attention as possible to ourselves, we rise from our seats and make our way out of the club into the crisp Manhattan night.

"Quinn, what's the time," queries Brittany as she imperceptibly adjusts her silk shawl. I check the pocket watch tucked in the scarf tied around my waist.

"Too early to go home," I answer. We stand in the street for a moment until a breeze gusting through our gauzy dresses reminds us that it's also too cold to stay outside.

"You know, we've been listening to flat tire tunes all night. Let's go somewhere with a little more jazz." Brittany decides, a gleam in her deep blue eyes. She grabs my hand and we set off through the dark Harlem streets. As we head up along Lenox Avenue we hear laughter and saxophone music coming from a brightly lit building with the words "COTTON CLUB" emblazoned on the side in big bright letters.

"Ooh, Quinn, let's go in there," Brittany says eagerly. I inspect the club for a minute and as I do a hand snakes out of a shadowy shop doorway and closes in on Brittany's arm. A raspy voice near our ears makes itself heard over the nearby club's clamor.

"You two ladies all dressed up in your glad rags look mighty pretty. What do you say you come upstairs to a little party with me?"

The nearest street lamp is about ten feet away and the place where we're standing is dusky black. The man has taken hold of Brittany's arm with both his hands and I can just barely see his face. A cold feeling takes over my chest and I start to shake. I can sense him standing there in the darkness. I smell gin every time he breathes out. Brittany is frozen, unable to make a sound. Her panic is almost tangible. She's staring straight at me.

"Sir, let go of her arm. Get away from us," I try to make my voice sound as threatening as possible. I wish I could scream, shout, but my throat won't let me. There's a couple standing gaily outside of the cotton club, but they can't see us from here, and my voice is drowned out by the loud jazz music. It's kind of funny when you think about it, how there can be such high spirits not twenty feet from utter terror.

"I mean it!" My voice is verging on hysteria now and I sound more scared than menacing. It doesn't do the trick. He doesn't let go. I grab Brittany by the shoulders and try to pull her away, but this man is strong, strong enough to pull both of us toward him. "Oh God," I think. "Scream! Do something!" but my voice is mute and I'm too weak to get Brittany out of his grasp. I'm too weak to do anything.

"Hey,_cabron_!"

A woman's husky voice pierces my haze of panic. The man hastily releases of Brittany. Three of us (or one of her) is apparently more than he can handle. Brittany and I wrap our arms around each other.

"You okay?" the woman turns to us. At second glance she is probably not older than me, though it's hard to see her through the murky darkness. She's wearing heels so I'm not exactly sure, but my huch is she's shorter too. Despite that, there's something about the way she carries herself that makes her seem bigger and tougher. No wonder the man let go of us. We swallow, nod, we're fine, just shaken, and with that she turns her attention to the man who's still standing in the shade of the doorway.

"Okay, I've seen you lurking around here before, drunk out of your mind like some ossified goddamn _hijo de puta_, but you weren't really bothering anyone so I figure I'll let the police deal with your boozy self. But now I see you bothering these two ladies? Oh no, that's not gonna fly. Now you listen here, the next time I even catch a whiff of your gin laced, hoochy breath, I will kick you so hard in the _cojones_ you'll wish you were born without them. We clear?"

It's hard to see, but I think the man nods before he quickly turns and bolts.

"_Vaya al diablo_," The girl mutters. Now we're alone, thanks to this fiery person who's quite possibly saved our lives. I try to mumble some form of gratitude, but she waves her arm and cuts me off.

"Sorry I can't stick around with you girls," she says brusquely, "but I am really_, really_ late." With that she trots off quickly in the direction of the Cotton Club. As she runs through the double doors she's illuminated for a second by the club's Spotlights. She's got dark hair, and a complexion that leaves me wondering if she's black or white. I was right about her age though, she can't be any older than me.

"Brittany, are you okay," I ask, concerned. I examine her face but now the immediate danger is over she doesn't seem to be too shaken. That's the thing about Brittany; the things you most expect to spook her never seem to do.

"We can go home if you want," I offer, but Brittany shakes her head.

"I'd feel safer inside for a while," she remarks thoughtfully. Her eyes brush over the club's double doors and a small grin begins at the corner of her mouth. I can tell she's thinking of that fiery dark haired girl. Wondering what she was so late for. Wondering if she'll ever see her again. Truth be told, so am I. This time I'm the one to grab Brittany's hand, and we make our way to the doors of the Cotton Club.

The exterior of the building is spacious, with round, baroque ceilings and a large raised stage with ornate beaded curtains which are draped aside at the moment to reveal a large jazz band. While everyone in the seated audience is white, as usual, most of the stage performers, including the main singer, a large pretty girl probably around my age, are Negro.

As I notice this I'm hesitant - all the other clubs I've been to, usually Hummel's, are strictly Whites Only. Puckerman's Lounge does a Colored Night on Friday, but I always steer clear of the club on those days. I mean, this is Harlem, it's not as if I'm _sheltered_ or anything, but everyone says that the mixed clubs are always more rowdy. And after what I've just experienced I'm not sure a rowdy place is the best idea. But Brittany clearly doesn't share the same concern, and she pulls me to a table near the center of the room. As we settle in, the girl finishes up her last verse.

___"I ain't had nothin' but bad news.__  
__Now I got the crazy blues."_

I didn't get to hear most of the song but the last two lines are gorgeous. She's just as good a singer as the short brunette from earlier in the night, but in a vastly different way.

While the earlier singer was purely a classically trained sound, this singer has an earthy sound that blends gorgeously with the band and sends chills running up my arms and melts away some of my reserve. Maybe this place will be fine after all.

The girl winks to the crowd, curtsies slightly in her long black drapey dress, and exits the stage. The curtains fall down and the audience breaks into applause and chatter. The band strikes up a more upbeat tune as the next singer gets into position behind the sheer beaded curtain. The lights dim, and a single spotlight focuses on the silhouette of the figure still standing behind the curtain. The curtain is pulled aside and as it does I realize the singer, whose back is turned to the audience, looks very familiar. As she turns around and the music starts up I'm sure of it: she's the fiery girl from before. I nudge Brittany, but she's already noticed, and her face is shining as she looks at the girl on the stage. The brunette's got an electric smile that lights up her face as she starts into her song. I'm still not sure if she's black or white, she could be either, but I stop wondering about that as soon as she opens her mouth.

Her voice is breathtaking. It's a slower song than the one before, but the mood is much more upbeat: this isn't a blues song; it's a song this girl is teasing the audience with. Instead of an entire band, her only accompaniment is the piano and a single saxophone, and the intimacy of the sound draws the audience in.

"_I hear these women raving 'bout their monkey men  
About their fighting husbands and their no good friends  
These poor women sit around all day and moan  
Wondering why their wandering papa's don't come home  
But wild women don't worry, wild women don't have no blues_

As she sings her body sways, her arms waving ever so slightly to the beat. Her eyes sweep over the audience. It's mesmerizing to watch her.  
"_Now when you've got a man, don't never be on the square  
'Cause if you do he'll have a woman everywhere  
I never was known to treat no one man right"_

(Was that a wink in our direction? I think it was.)

_I keep 'em working hard both day and night_."

At this verse the audience chuckles, and she beams with them. She's really a beautiful girl, with big sparkling brown eyes and long glossy dark hair. She's wearing a short red dress with maybe a thousand crystals sewn to it. Every time she sways her hips they catch the light.  
_"'Cause wild women don't worry, wild women don't have their blues"  
_And her voice, God, it's gorgeous. It's rich and smoky, and the way it slinks the words out is positively seductive.  
" _I've got a disposition and a way of my own  
When my man starts kicking I let him find another home_"

As she gets to this verse of the song she steps off the stage and starts to make her way through the tables, smiling at patrons as she goes.  
"_get full of good liquor, walk the streets all night  
Go home and put my man out if he don't act right_"

Maybe it's my imagination, but I think she's headed toward our table.  
"_Wild women don't worry, wild women don't have their blues"_

She catches my eye and grins. Yes, she's definitely coming toward us.  
"_You never get nothing by being an angel child  
You better change your ways and get real wild"_

Now she's at our table. She motions to an empty chair next to Brittany, asking if she can sit. Breathlessly the blonde nods. The entire room is looking our way. She sits down next to Brittany, and her next words are directed toward her. _  
_ "_I wanna tell you something, I wouldn't tell you a lie_"

As she croons this line she leans in toward Brittany, so close her mouth almost brushes the blonde's ear.  
"_Wild women are the only kind that ever get by_"

She give Brittany a smirk and then stands up, surveying the crowd, aware that everyone in the room is totally focused on her. She breathes out the last line, eyes closed, singing i from the heart. She totally believes the words she's singing.  
"_wild women don't worry, wild women don't have no blues_. "

I believe her too.

She bows, winks at Brittany, and the audience breaks into applause.


End file.
